


there is a place (in my heart)

by caramelle



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 10:21:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13679748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caramelle/pseuds/caramelle
Summary: Even so, he won't deny that he's spent six years wondering what it would be like if they could go back to that time in their little dropship camp, just a hundred kids with nothing but yards of parachute tarp and chests full of bright, burning hope.Those thoughts returned the day they found Clarke again.Or, the one where Bellamy finds the reunion with Clarke a little (a lot) more awkward than he expected. It's nothing Valentine's Day can't fix.





	there is a place (in my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> a Bellarke Secret Valentine's gift for the wonderful, talented [Cody](https://jynersos.tumblr.com/)!
> 
>  
> 
> (title from 'Open Up' by Editors)

 

 

Bellamy's seen a lot of weird shit over the last six years.

 

Living with a bunch of teenagers in an enclosed, almost hostile environment will do that to a person. (Granted, none of them are teenagers anymore. He can't really find it in himself to get nostalgic about that, though. They all stopped being kids long before they entered adulthood.)

 

Don't get him wrong. Raven and Monty have done more than plenty to make their space station habitable again. He definitely vastly prefers it to the clinical coldness of Ark life and society pre-dropship.

 

‘Pre-dropship.’ Is it weird that he thinks of life that way now? He knows some of the others think of it as pre-Earth, but for some reason, it just doesn’t ring as true for him. For him, there was all he knew of steel walls and tasteless rations before ever getting on that dropship. And then after that came... everything else. The smoking smell of rocket thrusters, followed by a rush of fresh, unprocessed air. The sweat beading on his brow as he hunched in his stolen seat, the walls rocking and shuddering around him, the metallic salt and scent of his own fear giving way to the taste of earthy spring water. The endless _noise_ — engine whines and piercing screams, turned into birds and insects and wind rustling through the trees.

 

The _people._ Pre-dropship, he was literally trapped in space with nearly three thousand people, all of them tiny fishes crammed together in this large bowl. Immediately after that, he had an entire planet to share with a hundred juveniles — and yet, his life had never felt more _crowded._

 

Sometimes he remembers what Monty and Raven and Murphy and Harper were like before Kane and the others ever came down.

 

Monty was always overcautious, but up for a good time. Not much has changed there, to be honest.

 

Raven was so… _intense._ Just, alway so _on._ Not that he's complaining, of course. That relentless drive of hers has saved all their asses on _multiple_ occasions. But she's mellowed out a little over the last six years, her humour still sharp but just that little bit lighter, less cutting.

 

Murphy was… _God._ Don't even get him started.

 

Harper was always a steady presence, never loud about her opinions like a lot of the other delinquents were, but reliable. Dependable. But something about her seems to have been steadily deflating over the last six years. He's tried to talk to her about it, but ever since her and Monty broke up, she doesn't seem much interested in talking to anybody anymore.

 

They're all alright, though. They're alive, for one. They're still going, for another.

 

Even so, he won't deny that he's spent six years wondering what it would be like if they could go back to that time in their little dropship camp, just a hundred kids with nothing but yards of parachute tarp and chests full of bright, burning hope.

 

He tries not to bring it up with the rest. He'd rather not bring up painful memories for Monty, and Harper seems too ambivalent on the subject. She's always adapted well to whatever new environment she's placed in. As for Raven, he doesn't think the dropship ever really held the same significance for her as it did for the rest of its original passengers.

 

So he reminisces alone and in his head, playing those memories over and over again for an audience of no one, building fantasies and daydreams of what could have been if a hundred kids had gotten to keep their little kingdom made of sticks and stones.

 

Those thoughts returned the day they found Clarke again.

 

Well. More like _she_ found _them._

 

He won't get into the details, but just know that there was a lot of yelling, a lot of confusion, a lot of joyous outbursts cut abruptly short, and a whole lot of running for their lives. Other features include two inappropriate comments from Murphy, a genius improvisation moment from Raven involving a flare gun and a tree branch, and a near heart attack on his own part.

 

It's good to know some things are truly never going to change.

 

The second they were all doubled over in a clearing, panting hard to catch their breaths, Clarke had looked at him with a wry smile. "Just like old times, huh?"

 

(That choking sound he'd made had been _laughter,_ thank you very much. It was most definitely _not_ a sob, no matter what Emori says.)

 

His feet were already moving before he could command them to, his entire being unable to keep from wrapping her in his arms for even one more second, to soak in the _reality_ of her, _alive_ and well, to feel it in his fingers and on his skin. She was moving too, her body straightening and turning towards him, her own feet springing forward.

 

And then Echo threw up.

 

"Sorry," she gasped in between heaves, her fair skin tinted a distinct, mottled gray.

 

"That'll be the g-force adjustment," Raven quipped, even as her own complexion was turning uncharacteristically ashy. "Hey, Clarke. Got anywhere we could kick back for a second?"

 

 

* * *

 

  

It had taken them another week to settle into Clarke’s home.

 

Not Becca’s lab, not anymore. Clarke’s _home_.

 

“It’ll be a little cramped for a few weeks,” she’d said apologetically as they spread out in what used to be Becca’s workspace, dumping packs of supplies and unfurling bedrolls. “We’re still working on re-roofing the main house.”

 

 _We._ That had been yet another surprise.

 

Bellamy had watched as she’d turned to the little girl, muttering something in a low voice. The girl — _Madi,_ Bellamy reminded himself — had nodded and taken off, darting up the stairs quick as a flash, her dark hair fanning out under her black beanie. She hadn’t said much since they arrived at the rover to find her waiting in the back, a severely frayed and yellowed paperback in her hands. She’d seemed too awed to speak even when Clarke introduced her, dutifully and eagerly helping them all load their packs into the rover, all while staring mutely at them each in turn with wide, dark eyes. Emori had tried to coax some conversation from her on the ride back, slipping easily back into the Grounder tongue despite years of disuse, but it hadn’t yielded much from the younger girl aside from several bright smiles and a handful of half-stuttered, nervously delivered responses.

 

She’d relaxed a lot more over the next few days, her naturally chatty disposition shining through as she helped Clarke hand out nettle tea and strips of smoked meat in the mornings. It was still a bit of a shock sometimes, to turn around and see her there with the rest of the group, sitting or standing next to Clarke like she belonged there.

 

But seeing her permanently dirt-smudged face there, tucked under her woollen beanie — a lone child in the midst of adults who hadn’t been that far off from her age the last time they’d been on the ground — it always made him think of the dropship.

 

 

* * *

 

  

They’ve officially begun clearing out the last of the debris of the main house so they can get started on roofing works. In the meantime, Madi has all but attached herself to Raven’s side, running back and forth fetching writing instruments and various tools and passing messages onto the others for the engineer like a personal assistant.

 

“I mean, I could always use the radio,” Raven says once Madi rushes off on another message-passing errand, looking after the girl with affectionate exasperation, “but who am I to let her down?”

 

Clarke catches his eye at that, and shakes her head with a wry smile.

 

“She’s just kind of overwhelmed at finally meeting you all,” she tells him. “I may have spent the last few years talking you up a bit.”

 

Bellamy raises a brow, surprised to find himself surprised. “Oh, no. This can’t be good.”

 

She rolls her eyes at his slight dig, smiling despite herself. “Nothing that isn’t entirely _true._ Stuff like how Raven’s the smartest person on the planet. Or how you wouldn’t know it, but Monty’s probably the strongest of us all.” She pauses then, her eyes flicking to his face. “Or how much of a hero you are.”

 

He falters at that, still half-caught between the light mood of their joking banter and the sudden shift into genuine sincerity. Truth be told, it’s a lot more awkward than he thought it would be. The first day they’d reunited with Clarke, he’d imagined the two of them slipping right back into their old rhythms with no trouble at all, communicating entire sentiments with a mere look and understanding each other perfectly without even having to speak full sentences.

 

Instead, he feels like they’re constantly on hold with each other, both of them cautious and unsure and reserved. Their entire rhythm is off-kilter, and he’s beginning to feel like one of those screens everybody used to stare at in the old Ark mess hall whenever the signal got screwed up — endless static, a million dots of black and white scrambling senselessly over and around each other.

 

“Well,” he says slowly after a long moment, “I hope you didn’t forget to mention yourself.”

 

Awkward pause.

 

“In that whole _hero_ thing,” he says quickly. “Because. You know. You’re also… a hero.”

 

So… _so_ awkward.

 

“Thanks,” she says at last, one brow twitching.

 

He avoids her eye for the next three hours, burying himself in work to pretend he’s not doing exactly that.

 

 

* * *

 

  

He’s not one _hundred_ percent oblivious.

 

He knows what he and Clarke looked like to people who didn’t know them. Shit, he knows what their relationship looked like even to people who _did._

 

Honestly, it’s not that he was ever _trying_ to give off that impression. She certainly wasn’t either, he’s absolutely sure of that. (In fact, even with six years of endless time to do nothing but ruminate on everything they’d shared together, he’s still not sure the possibility has ever even crossed her mind.)

 

The thing is, he would only realise what he was doing _after_ he’d done it.

 

A casual touch on her arm or her knee. A lean-in for a hushed exchange, their heads somehow ending up a lot closer than he would have gone for with Miller or Monty. Flinging his body in the face of danger to protect hers, pure instinct moving him quicker than any conscious intent ever could.

 

They weren’t ever _together…_ but in hindsight, he can admit he’s starting to see how it might have _looked_ like it.

 

Apparently, even six years of separation isn't enough to change that. He finds himself gravitating towards her constantly, always by her side before he can even remember taking a step in her direction. Even after all that time, the impulse to be in close proximity to her still comes to him as naturally as breathing does.

 

Now, if the six years of sitting in space have taught him anything, it’s that the act of taking time out for self-reflection is highly, _highly_ underrated. He never really understood that before Praimfaya. It was always a luxury he couldn’t afford. He just spent all his time forcing himself to keep up with the demands of survival and protecting his people, despite there being several, _several_ occasions on which he could have _really_ benefited from just taking a few minutes out to stop and _think_.

 

But he's a little older now, and, hopefully, a little wiser too, so he makes it a point to give the matter some deliberate, conscious thought. After a few nights of quiet contemplation, he decides it’s probably better if he maintains some physical distance for now, even if it’s just for him to sort through his own thoughts and feelings as he gets used to the idea — no, the _reality_ of Clarke being alive again.

 

Unfortunately, it's a hell of a lot easier said than done.

 

He doesn't ever quite realise how much he and Clarke touch until they _don't._

 

 _Don't_ brush up against her shoulder as a silent 'good morning'. _Don't_ graze fingers against her elbow or her shoulder to get her attention. _Don't_ lean into her personal space, not even when huddling together to study roughly drawn blueprints for the roof. _Don't_ press knee against hers, no matter how cosy and warm the fire is at night.

 

He ends up overcompensating here and there, going out of his way to position Monty or Harper in between them when they gather for dinner, folding his arms tight across his chest as a staunch reminder to keep his hands to himself.

 

He still ends up slipping here and there, his hand already inches away from her arm before he catches himself. His recovery is never as smooth as he'd like it to be, and he's pretty sure she notices every single time he blinks and freezes like a two-headed deer caught in the headlights… but she hasn't said anything yet. So neither has he.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Three days later, he’s only doing marginally better at trying to act like he doesn’t want to leap off a cliff whenever he says or does something colossally stupid when Clarke springs an ambush on him.

 

“Hey, can I get a few hours?” she says once the rest start to clear up after breakfast, her jacket already in her hand. “I want to show you something.”

 

“Sure,” he says automatically, half-distracted with the task of putting the fire out. “Should I tell the others?”

 

She shakes her head. “Already told Raven and Monty. Got some food packed up too. Grab whatever you need and meet me by the rover.”

 

She doesn’t tell him where they’re going, but they drive for about three hours without stopping, Clarke behind the wheel as he alternates between peering through the windshield and studying her hand-drawn maps, attempting to refamiliarise himself with the terrain. He’s pretty sure he could have managed navigation if it were the same Earth they’d dropped back down onto after six years, but it’s _not_ the same Earth, not even close. Vegetation is still sparse, the dirt in some places now more ash grey than fertile brown, more so the further they get from the house. The sun is a lot hotter than he remembers, but there’s an unfamiliar chill in the air that keeps him from removing his jacket.

 

“Everywhere’s either too hot or too cold. Sometimes both,” Clarke explains, one hand deftly manoeuvring the gearstick. (She’s gotten really, really good at that, he notes absently.) “There’s still too much ash in the atmosphere for the temperature to level out.”

 

His nose wrinkles. “I’ll take it. Raven didn’t like to let us crank up the heaters on the Ark.” He screws up his face and purses his lips, doing his best annoyed-mechanic imitation. “‘The point is to _conserve_ energy, people! Not to be _comfortable._ ’”

 

Clarke laughs readily, but then the sound seems to die out quickly in her throat. “Well,” she says after an oddly long pause, “she was right. As always,” she adds, half under her breath.

 

He glances over at her, his smile melting into a frown. It’s hard to read her expression when she’s driving the rover, maintaining a careful mask of concentration that he knows from experience is only partially feigned. (A thought strikes him — was this what it was like for her whenever she used to try and talk to him while he was behind the wheel?)

 

“Monty figured out a way to rig the system, though,” he says. “So we really only had to freeze our asses off for the first couple of years.”

 

She nods, but the line of her mouth is tight. “And the water filtration?”

 

He swallows, remembering their conversation in Becca’s lab hours before Praimfaya, both of them clad head to toe in bulky hazmat suits and scrambling to review the entirety of the Ark’s support systems before they could launch their little ragtag group into space.

 

He’d spent over six years thinking that was the last real conversation he would have ever had with her.

 

“Good,” he manages after a beat, throwing in a firm nod for good measure. “Couple of hitches here and there, but nothing we couldn’t handle.”

 

“Good,” she echoes, nodding out through the windshield.

 

And then she falls silent.

 

He reminds himself to be patient, not to push and prod as he would be wont to do if this were six years ago.

 

She doesn't say anything, keeping her eyes fixed ahead for the rest of the journey.

 

 

* * *

 

  

They arrive at their destination soon after that, but if it weren't for Clarke's map, he wouldn't have had the slightest clue.

 

"It's… it's a total wreck," he says, torn between horrified dismay and reluctant awe. The once bustling city of Polis is essentially turned to rubble and ruin, rock and stone and bits of warped metal spread out over at least ten or so square miles of land, each heap of debris indistinguishable from the other.

 

Clarke comes up beside him, her brow pinched. "We spent six months looking for it."

 

Six months… and they never found anything. He knows it, even without her having to say it. The entrance to the Second Dawn bunker is nothing more than a man-sized hole in the ground. It would have taken an entire army months to clear the ruin, and even then, weeks more to find the entrance — if it even still exists. What could a young woman accompanied by a mere child do in six months?

 

She turns, her eyes finding his. "I'm sorry."

 

He swallows, and turns away. "Let's go."

 

 

* * *

 

 

For the next hour or so, Clarke doesn't try to say anything, and he's grateful for it. Somewhere deep down, he's always known he would have to be prepared for the worst. Even so, seeing the truth of it is… overwhelming, to say the least.

 

She clears her throat once they reach the river, glancing carefully at him. "We could always try again," she says, her tone neutral. "We've got four times the manpower now. Might have more luck this time."

 

He exhales, surprised to feel some of the weight lifting from his shoulders. "We can discuss it with the others," he says, his voice steadier than he expects. "But the fact is that we don't even know if anyone in the bunker's still alive. The most important thing right now is making sure we have shelter for ourselves. Restoring the house has to come first."

 

Her eyes flick over to him, searching his face for a second or two — and then she nods in silent agreement.

 

"I'm hungry," she says suddenly, sitting up in the driver's seat. "You hungry?"

 

He blinks, tuning in to his bodily urges for the first time in hours. "Yeah, actually. Should we stop for lunch?"

 

She peers through the windshield for a beat, and then grins, and pulls the rover away from the river. "I've got an idea."

 

 

* * *

 

  

He doesn't quite know where she's taking them at first, but twenty minutes into her detour, they pass a small waterfall. One that looks strangely familiar.

 

Suddenly, he thinks he just might have a good idea of exactly where they're going.

 

"Oh, my God," he breathes as she pulls up to the familiar clearing. "Oh my _God._ "

 

She grins as they hop out of the rover, the bag she'd packed for lunch slung over one shoulder. "Home sweet home."

 

The tree line's changed, the forest less dense. Even so, the sun rays seem to shine through the leaves the exact same way. The hulking shape of the dropship is no longer intact, but bits of thruster and metal hull are scattered here and there, made of more lasting stuff than the weathered rock and stone of Polis. The same fungi and flora has even begun to sprout here and there, albeit in different spots than before.

 

Everything looks exactly the same… but also completely different.

 

It's the weirdest fucking thing.

 

"This is the weirdest fucking thing," he says as he holds the pack open for Clarke to rifle around in, too busy taking in everything to do much else beyond just stand there, gaping.

 

"Tell me about it," she agrees, pulling a rolled-up blanket out of the bag. "Honestly, I still can't believe I even found it. It was the first place I went looking for once I could get the rover working again."

 

His gaze snaps to her, brows knitting together in surprise. "Really?"

 

She unfurls the blanket and looks at him, expression matter-of-fact. "Yeah. Here, sit down."

 

He obeys automatically, trying not to _stare_ at her as he lowers himself to the blanket, but somewhat failing. "Huh."

 

Taking the pack from his hands, she arches a brow at him. "Is it that some kind of revelation?"

 

He closes his mouth and shakes his head, watching as she pulls securely wrapped portions of food out of the pack. "No, I just— I don't know. We spent less than a month here. Guess I thought you'd look for Arkadia first, or Polis, or something."

 

She frowns, half-distracted with the task of unwrapping their lunch. "Polis was a lot of things, but it was never home. Arkadia was where us Sky People lived, but it never really..." She pauses, letting the rest of the sentence trail off into the air. "Well. Not like this camp was, at least."

 

"Yeah," he says after a beat. "Not like this camp."

 

A small grin breaks out on her face. "Remember the time Sterling knocked himself out with a piece of wood while building the wall?"

 

He snorts, taking the skin of berries she holds out to him. "Remember the time Fox slipped and fell on an actual banana peel, like in the black and white movies?"

 

She laughs merrily, the sound carrying through the small clearing. "Remember the time..."

 

They go on for a good while, trading the best and worst of their memories from their twenty-one days in their little dropship camp. Things get sombre at the mention of Atom and Wells and Lincoln, but while the bright memories don't quite outnumber the dark ones, they do plenty to soften the dull, bitter edge of sorrow.

 

He's not sure how long they sit there for, just talking and talking. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been an hour. It's the best time he can ever remember having on Earth.

 

Eventually, he drops back onto the blanket, settling comfortably into the soft dirt underneath. "I loved this camp," he admits quietly. "It was way too cramped, sanitation was always fucking impossible and we had next to nothing in supplies and tools, but… I loved it."

 

He feels rather than sees her laying down next to him, their shoulders barely an inch apart on the blanket. "We didn't have nothing. We had you."

 

He scoffs. "You're the doctor, Clarke. You're the one who kept us alive."

 

"Yes, but you protected us," she says. "You kept us going day after day. I tried to keep as many alive as I could, but you're the one who made this place a _home_ for us all."

 

He starts to say something, to counter, but she keeps going. "Do you know, this was the first place so many of those kids truly felt like they _belonged?_ All those years on the Ark, and all it ever got them was a prison cell and judgement from everyone — council members, guards, even their own parents. Suddenly they were here, and they were _contributing._ They were useful. Needed. _Wanted._ All because Bellamy Blake told them so."

 

He stares up into the canopy, the sun winking at him between the trees. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, he's dimly aware that he's holding his breath.

 

"And I..." He thinks he might hear the small _whoosh_ of breath as she exhales, and then inhales, slight and quick. "I loved it too."

 

He lets her words sink into the space around them, filling up the clearing with something he can't quite name. Something tangible, but intangible. Solid and fleeting, all at the same time.

 

" _We_ made it a home," he says after a long silence, firming his voice with certainty. "You and I both." He turns his head then, staring directly into her face. "Together."

 

She turns too, her piercing blue gaze meeting his. "Together."

 

Suddenly, he's sharply aware of just how close their faces are.

 

And, for the first time since returning to the ground, he doesn't pull back.

 

 

* * *

 

  

It's well into dusk by the time they get back to the house, Madi already scampering about to get dinner ready for the group.

 

"We were just talking about a search party," Harper says as they enter the main room.

 

"One of us could have been _severely_ injured," Raven says dramatically. "We could have _died_!"

 

Bellamy exchanges an amused glance with Clarke. " _Did_ someone die?"

 

"No," Raven says with a huff, "but we _could_ have!"

 

Clarke gets up to accompany Emori to fetch more wood for the fire. They've barely disappeared through the door when Bellamy finds himself sandwiched between Monty and Murphy.

 

"So?" Murphy drawls lazily, one brow raised.

 

"So what," Bellamy says flatly, shoving him away with an elbow. "There's plenty of room, Murphy, don't crowd."

 

Monty _tsk's_ impatiently. "Does this mean you and Clarke are okay now?"

 

His cheeks heat at that, but he maintains a stoic face as best as he can. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Were we ever _not_ okay?"

 

Monty exchanges a meaningful glance with Murphy. "I mean, we knew things were _weird_ between you guys ever since we got back, but we figured since you spent all of Valentine's Day together, you were working—"

 

"Hold on," Bellamy interjects, his brows knitting in a frown. "Spent all of _what_?!"

 

"Jesus Christ," Murphy says, shaking his head.

 

Monty fixes him with a look that's almost stern. " _Valentine's_ Day, Bellamy. It's February fourteenth. The day we celebrate love?"

 

Bellamy looks at him incredulously. "Since when have ' _we'_ ever celebrated that!"

 

Murphy leans back on his palms, seeming thoroughly unconvinced. "Then what the fuck were you two off doing all day?"

 

"We were— exploring!" Bellamy says defensively, heat prickling on the back of his neck. "Took the rover out to look at the terrain, discuss some plans. We stopped for lunch in the woods, and then we got to talking and just lost track of time."

 

"So you went for a drive alone, and then… had a romantic picnic," Monty summarises.

 

Murphy smirks. "Also alone."

 

"On Valentine's Day," Monty adds, extremely unnecessarily.

 

"Stop saying that like it's a thing," Bellamy orders, infusing authority into his voice in an effort to hide his discomfort. "It's literally _never_ been a thing. And _Murphy_ — I swear to God, if you don't stop _nudging_ me with your goddamn elbow—"

 

"All right, all right," Murphy says, both palms raised in mock surrender. "Jeez. Next time, go right ahead and stay out all night. Maybe you'll come back in a better mood."

 

He scrambles out of the way before Bellamy's swing can connect with his person, escaping to the opposite end of their little circle to effectively hide behind Raven.

 

Monty wisely slinks away before Bellamy can turn his annoyance on him, and Madi obliviously plops down in his place, chattering a mile a minute as she works on dividing up handfuls of mushrooms.

 

Bellamy lets her carry on, only idly listening as Clarke returns with an armful of kindling, Emori half a step behind. She takes a quick second out of her conversation with the other girl to flash a small smile at him, tearing her gaze away when Harper joins them to help stoke the fire.

 

He still doesn't hold with all this Valentine's Day nonsense. (First of all, not only is Saint Valentine supposedly the patron saint of love, he's also the patron saint of beekeeping, epilepsy, and the fucking _plague._ Celebrating him in any capacity at all is just plain dumb.)

 

But as for love…

 

Honestly, he still doesn't know if he's ever going to know it for himself. He's not even sure if he's ever going to be able to find the room for something like that within the life they constantly find themselves forced to lead.

 

But he looks at Clarke, her eyes bright and skin washed over with warm yellows and oranges from the fire, and he thinks, _yeah,_ he _wants_ that.

 

She looks up then, like she can hear him thinking his thoughts to himself, and gives him another small smile, full of understanding and knowing.

 

They've killed for each other. They've lied and stolen and destroyed for each other. They've risked everything just to keep the other alive, and God knows as long as they're on this Earth, it won't be the last time. Despite all that, despite everything they've given for and to each other, they haven't ever once found a way to really, truly _be_ with each other.

 

But maybe, just maybe — at long last, they're finally on their way.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> happy valentine's day to you <3
> 
> i'm also [on tumblr](http://ticogirls.tumblr.com)


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